


the dark side of the morning

by brokenshards



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenshards/pseuds/brokenshards
Summary: 1920's reincarnation AU. Originally written for the 2013 Armor Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr





	the dark side of the morning

**Author's Note:**

> [Accompanying gifset](http://morganalefay.tumblr.com/post/70832216316/merry-christmas-from-your-secret-santa-it)

It feels as though the earth has ripped in two, surging and rumbling and screaming—as Arthur tumbles into consciousness, his breath coming in quick pants and his skin sticky with sweat. His eyes fly open and he orients himself, taking in his surroundings. He’s in a small apartment, the walls bare and the floor cold as he sets his feet on it. His memory is fuzzy, as if no thought he has is concrete—it’s all fleeting, slipping through the cracks like sand.

He stands up from the bed, shaking his head as he blinks against the brightness of the sun. He doesn’t remember much, but he knows his name, and as he looks out the window at the city below him, he knows somehow that there’s something out there he’s supposed to find.

—

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to discern that he’s in a place called Chicago, and the year is 1925. The words people speak sound familiar, but odd at the same time. Yet he can remember nothing else, so he eventually accepts the oddities and lets it all wash over him as he joins the bustle. He finds work at a factory and falls easily into this strange new life. Though as much as he tries to ignore it, there is always something tickling at the back of his mind.

He is a drone, eat, work, sleep– nothing else. Some of the guys at work notice and convince him to go out one night. “What’s eating you, Arthur? You look downright miserable.”

Another guy joins in, throwing his arm over Arthur’s shoulders. “He just needs a good whoopee, that’s all. We’ll take him out on the town.”

“Yeah, a night at a juice joint should take your mind off your problems.”

Arthur knows it’s pointless to argue, so he agrees, nodding his head as the guys corral him out of the building.

—

When they arrive at the speakeasy, they duck in through the back, and Arthur is soon sucked up by the swell of people. There are people drinking and laughing all around him, and several pretty little things come up to him, tugging on his coat and begging him to dance. “Come on, give a girl a shot,” they’d croon, but he turned them all down.

He’s still disoriented, his head fuzzy, and he very seriously considers leaving— but then he finds her, leaning casually against the bar, shrouded a smoky haze. Her long legs and slender neck are exposed under a shimmering dress and a cropped haircut, her dark hair topped off with a feathery headband. Her eyes suddenly turn in his direction, her cigarette holder dangling loosely from her fingers and something akin to barely contained malice in her stare as she looks him over.

He should know well enough to stay away, but something about her pulls him in like a siren’s call, and he’s by her side before he can stop himself. There are images of her marauding his brain– her in long dresses with razor blades for nails as she bleeds him dry. It should scare him, but it doesn’t.

The words, “Have we met before?” spill off his tongue in a heated whisper, his hands itching to reach out to her. She’s the only thing that feels real in this whole place, the only thing that doesn’t feel fractured and foreign and wrong.

She tilts her head in interest, a sly smile gracing her lips as she takes him in, lifting her cigarette holder and taking a long draw before blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth. She laughs– a bright, tinkling sound, before purring, “‘Bout time you showed up, handsome, it’s been awful lonesome without you.”

He has questions, so many questions, but her hand is wrapped around his and she’s pulling him out to the floor, her dress swaying and tassels flying as she starts to dance. He has no choice but to follow her rhythm, her movements mesmerizing—it’s as though she’s cast a spell on him, he thinks, the idea giving him pause.

She catches his gaze, grinning that terrifying grin of hers, and she spins out with a twirl of her skirt, holding tight to his hand.

Arthur pulls her back in, her breath hot on his neck as she collides with his chest, laughing against his skin. Time stands still, one song, then two, dipping her down, spinning her in circles, holding her close—it loses all meaning.

If this is how he dies, he thinks, he could be at peace.

She finally drags him off to a booth, ordering drink after drink. He gains his speech again, and he grabs her hand as she reaches for her glass.

His voice is gravelly as he whispers, “How is it that I know you? I can’t remember anything; the things I’ve done, the faces of my family, but you—you I remember.”

She cocks her head at him, the weight of his hand still heavy on her wrist.

“It’s only fragments, but they’re so clear, I just—” he stops, shaking his head. She’ll think he’s crazy, and maybe he is.

For some reason his confession makes her smile, and she looks up at him through her lashes. “I’m sure it’ll come to you eventually.”

After that, the alcohol floods his veins, and he loses her, his friends dragging him home. He wakes up the next day with a raging headache and a picture of her in his mind.

—

Arthur tries to go back to his regular life, but after that night, he becomes a man possessed. He makes it his mission to find her again. He goes out with the guys every weekend, fighting off blonde airheads as they clamber over him.

His friends get tired of him, calling him a wet blanket. He may go out, but he never drinks or dances, just searches—endlessly searching for her. It’s been almost a month, and he’s had no luck.

He stumbles out of a speakeasy one night, alone. His friends went home, and it’s nearing two in the morning. Nearly everyone has left, so he pathetically crawls out to the alley.

“Where ya headed, mac?” a feminine voice calls out.

Arthur sighs; he isn’t in the mood for this. “Scram,” he snaps.

The girl makes a noise of shock. “Now, is that any way to talk to a friend?”

Arthur stops, turning his head in the direction of the voice. He found that it came from a car next to him, where a familiar face was hanging out of the window.

Her dark hair was decorated with a silver headband, and her wrists were decked out with bracelets, but everything else was the same. “It’s you,” he breathes.

“Hiya, big guy.” She smiles up at him. After all his searching, there she was. “Wanna get out of here?”

Arthur grins so hard his face hurts. He nods, but before getting in the car, he stops. “Wait, what’s your name?”

She smirks dangerously at him. “It’s Morgana.”

—

Later, after he had become so entwined with her that she was the air he breathed, he would think back to that moment and wish he had walked away.

The gun is smoking in her hand, and his blood was covering the cobblestones underneath him. The memories come pouring back like wine, and he coughs out her name.

She knows he remembers now, and she smiles, baring her teeth. “I made you a promise once– that’d I’d stay and watch over you. Well don’t worry, baby, I’m keeping it this time.”


End file.
